Just this week, as I was looking through the first draft of my novel for clues my subconscious might have left me (and guessing at what a clue might be), I hit a scene where my P meter was jumping up high. I’d thought I was going to have to cut that whole braid (hey!) of text because I’d d…
Just this week, as I was looking through the first draft of my novel for clues my subconscious might have left me (and guessing at what a clue might be), I hit a scene where my P meter was jumping up high. I’d thought I was going to have to cut that whole braid (hey!) of text because I’d decided in advance (boo) not to deal with that timeline.
I’d been revising the one-sentence-leads-to-another-and-that’s-all-you-need-to-know way, and the opening of the novel refused to come to life.
And then the idea of a prologue knocked on my brain with goods (and a special character) from the timeline I thought I’d have to lose entirely.
When I gave this prologue a whirl, not only did its own sentences arrive in great shape (and turn undeniable quickly) but the prologue itself cast light and shadow across the opening in this way that makes me freshly excited to work now. The prologue also talked directly to the people I’m writing this story for, which I didn’t expect, and it helps me to remember why this is all worth trying. Feels like a giant charging station for the whole endeavor.
And here comes George this morning, all “Oh, by the way, framing” and I am once again feeling blessed as hell to be here in Story Club.
I’m so pleased that framing’s come up right now.
Just this week, as I was looking through the first draft of my novel for clues my subconscious might have left me (and guessing at what a clue might be), I hit a scene where my P meter was jumping up high. I’d thought I was going to have to cut that whole braid (hey!) of text because I’d decided in advance (boo) not to deal with that timeline.
I’d been revising the one-sentence-leads-to-another-and-that’s-all-you-need-to-know way, and the opening of the novel refused to come to life.
And then the idea of a prologue knocked on my brain with goods (and a special character) from the timeline I thought I’d have to lose entirely.
When I gave this prologue a whirl, not only did its own sentences arrive in great shape (and turn undeniable quickly) but the prologue itself cast light and shadow across the opening in this way that makes me freshly excited to work now. The prologue also talked directly to the people I’m writing this story for, which I didn’t expect, and it helps me to remember why this is all worth trying. Feels like a giant charging station for the whole endeavor.
And here comes George this morning, all “Oh, by the way, framing” and I am once again feeling blessed as hell to be here in Story Club.